


Heaven Has Nothing

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Everyone is Dead, M/M, Post-Canon, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Daniel should not be here. But that is part of it -- everything here is designed to hurt.
Relationships: Dan Dreiberg/Rorschach
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Talking

It’s very bright out here, very _white_ and Dan’s not sure how he feels about that. He sits next to Rorschach with a muttered greeting, but Rorschach (of course) says nothing. Rorschach hasn’t spoken in a very long time, which is part of the reason Dan’s here now and part of the reason he feels so awkward.

He knows what he wants to say, but he’s not sure how to start, so he just barrels into it.

“Do you remember the first night we patrolled together?” He asks, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. The pose feels childish, totally indicative of the insecurity he feels, but he can’t help it. “I mean, really patrolled together, not just dropped in on each other as backup in a nasty fight or passed each other on the streets.” He trails of, looking at his friend for a response. There is (of course) no change in his countenance.

“I remember it because even then I worried about you. I didn’t even know you, man, but it was March and it started to rain when I met up with you and all you were wearing

* * *

All he’s wearing against this weather is a trench coat, the collar popped uselessly against the freezing rain and driving wind and Dan doesn’t really know him but he’s worried. A man could get sick in this weather, especially in their line of business.

It’s the costume, he supposes; people recognize him by it. But they don’t really – it’s the mask they remember, and maybe the hat, but mostly it’s his presence. It’s certainly not the coat. He’s felt that back against his own enough times to know there’s nothing insulating about that coat, and he has to be freezing. Dan certainly is, but at least he’s got the cape.

But this guy is tough, very quiet as they walk side by side, and he feels more than a little stupid when he finally asks, “Man, aren’t you freezing?”

Rorschach (like the test, like the _mask,_ creative on top of everything) doesn’t say anything, just hunches his shoulders against the chill, and they both forget about it when the shrill beacon of distress pierces the night.

He’s awed as always by how smoothly this man – now his partner, and he’s guiltless in his glee over this – drops the collar of the punk he’s knocked out and moves to intercept the man who tries to break from his group and run. Analogies for his partner, all of them trite and banal, flash through his head as he holds his own against the two men that are left – a lightning storm, a wild fire; something natural and fiercely dangerous and terribly beautiful when you can watch it from a safe distance.

There’s something wonderful about the asynchronous huffs they exhale as their opponents fall, and Daniel suddenly understands what Hollis meant about brotherhood and _camaraderie._ He lets Rorschach drag the criminals together, listening with half an ear and a stupid grin as he growls about exactly what their degenerate activities are doing to the city, while he checks on the woman they were trying to mug.

When she’s safely on her way and the cops alerted to the location of the criminals, they move on together, heading to follow a lead Rorschach picked up. It’s a good one, another step closer to the goal that has united them. But the night is still young and Dan is pleased when Rorschach doesn’t head off on his own. Together, he intones, they are more efficient.

The rain never lets up, but it doesn’t wash away the scum of the city (as Rorschach so eloquently puts it). Two hours in, Dan notices a distinct stiffness to his partner’s movement, a slight shudder when the wind blows at them. “Hey,” he offers, “maybe we ought to look into getting you a thicker coat.” It’s really more a joke, but Rorschach looks at him for a long moment, his mask frozen in demonic scowl (or at least, that’s what Dan sees).

“Fine like this,” he says stiffly and keeps walking, leaving Dan to worry a moment longer before following.

His muscles ache and his head is spinning when he returns home in the earliest hours of the morning. It’s all good pain though, even the bruises; pain that proves the truth of his partners words – together they get a hell of a lot more done than they could alone. For the first time since he stepped out into the night in his costume, he realizes how fast everything happens. He shocks himself with the deep sense of pride he suddenly feels at how much good they can do together in one night.

Unless, of course, his partner gets sick, he thinks dryly as he steps under the hot spray of the shower. This kind of weather requires consideration. Maybe tomorrow night it’ll be warmer, or at least drier, and Rorschach will be a little more comfortable in his thin coat.

He falls asleep feeling like a child waiting for Christmas morning, exhaustingly excited by the prospect of his next night working with Rorschach. They’re going to be magnificent together, he already can tell.

* * *

was that damn trench coat. You looked like you would freeze to death before the night was over. But I was impressed too, because you didn’t complain even when it was obvious you were soaked through and beyond cold. I thought you were… I don’t know, inspiring. You were so dedicated.”

Dan pauses to draw a breath, exhaling it with an utterance too tired to really be laughter. “It wasn’t until much later that I realized that it was more stubbornness than anything. Which wasn’t always bad, I mean… no one else would have hung around and kept me going as long as you did. But it was terrible too, because I knew no matter what happened – no matter how many times some punk broke your arm, no matter how many times I sewed your skin closed – no matter what, you were never going to slow down or change.

“Not your mind, not your coat. You refused to change.”

A sigh escapes him, arms tightening around his knees. He wants to pull himself into a ball and crush this feeling out of himself, to make himself as small and hard as he can so this grief and pain will wash off him. But he can’t do that, he’s not good at hardening himself ( _soft, Daniel, you’ve gone soft_ ) and he’s not good at displacing emotion. So instead he forces himself to relax, trying not to shiver as he stretches out next to Rorschach. When he turns his head, the other man hasn’t moved, shows no sign of speaking.

Of course he doesn’t. His silence is as unyielding as the bitter cold.


	2. all i have is all i brought

_ it’s very white here and it should be. he cannot move or speak and that too is how it should be. _

_ he has brought this on himself. people come talk to him, but he doesn’t precisely understand all of them. it is daniel and the girl who linger, who talk to him, who try to convince him that he’s alright ( _ okay, you’re oka _ y). they insist he doesn’t have to stay like this, but they are wrong. the girl doesn’t know what to say most of the time, just touches him and pleads with him to talk. daniel says too much ( _ do you remember do you recall once upon a time we were _ ) in his sad sad voice. neither of them should be here, but he supposes that’s part of it. _

_ everything is designed to hurt him in some way. _

_ it's colder than he expected. _


	3. Gone

“I blamed myself, you know,” Daniel says after a moment, staring up into the whiteness. He expects the sting of sun in his eyes, the glare of refracted light, but there is nothing. Just blankness, an unmarked canvass waiting for ink.

Time doesn’t matter here, and he lets it stretch between them. Perhaps he hopes his words will serve as bait and the silence as a line drawing back, teasing Rorschach into speech or motion. He is not surprised, however, that his friend neither moves nor speaks after several minutes (hours, days, no-time). At this current moment, he’s not exactly certain that Rorschach _can_ move. Nothing seems to be holding him back, but then again…

“I never figured out what happened, but all the sudden you pulled away. We were doing so well, we were great together, and then

* * *

They had been doing great work together, every night something vibrant and exciting in a life that was growing increasingly dull and lonely. Every successful stakeout, every broken code, every crime ring disbanded; every moment of every night they spent together were the most meaningful moments of his life.

As close to the situation as he is, he doesn’t think of this as sad or pitiful. Quite the contrary, the stark loneliness of his day-life only serves to highlight the beauty and freedom of his nights, the delight of companionship. He’s never met anyone like Rorschach, so intense and so passionate, so completely devoted and in the moment.

So it’s like a sharp punch to the gut the night that the other man just doesn’t show up. He goes on patrol anyway, because maybe Rorschach’s out there caught up in something, and even if he’s not Daniel isn’t going to act like a girl who’s been stood up. But the night is miserable for all its action and sweet warmth, and he doesn’t run into Rorschach at all. He goes home feeling irritable and depressed.

A few nights later the smaller man is just there in his basement when he goes down stairs; just standing awkwardly half in and half out of the shadow. Daniel swallows his relief almost as quickly as he does his resentment; it quickly becomes apparent that this man is not the same man he was last week.

They fall into step together, they move in synchrony, but it’s not what it would have been a week ago. The impression of Rorschach having _changed_ sticks; it’s horrible and unshakable and Daniel cannot understand the cause, nor shake his own guilt.

All the intensity is there, but none of the humanity. He’s gone back to silence, too, and something about that is stinging with implication. Dan doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, but he must have. Why else would his friend throw up so many walls between them so suddenly? Why else would he lunge wordlessly and recklessly into a fight with the barely restrained energy of a man seeking violence?

For the first time, Dan watches Rorschach work and feels the keen edge of fear slice into him, a bite that leaves him feeling more guilty than ever. But if he’s not careful he’ll kill the punk he’s got pinned and it’s obvious that he doesn’t care even a little, the way his fist slams into the guys face, and there’s blood everywhere and someone is sobbing and someone else is screaming, shouting stop stop and

and

Rorschach tries to hit him when he grabs his wrist mid-punch. Only when the shouting stops does he realize it was coming from his own throat; he feels horse and a little nauseated. The man trapped under Rorschach is babbling apologies and pleas and it’s fucking pitiful. Rorschach himself is tense in Dan’s grip, still angled to hit him but frozen in place, caught between confused realization and blind rage, and that’s pitiful too. Daniel has no idea what to do, what’s _happened,_ and maybe that’s the worst of the lot.

“You have to stop,” he says, and his voice is anything but strong, giving away all his insecurity and weakness, but the man growling up at him relaxes a fraction. “I’m going to let go now.”

To be honest, he expects Rorschach to either go back to beating this guy to death – and who the hell knows, maybe the guy deserves to die for the sins he’s committed against the city and it’s almost-innocent populace, but Dan is sure as hell not going to say he has the right to make that decision.

Hours of tense silence later, they’re standing in his basement again. The harsh fluorescent lights seem to strive to make the blood on Rorschach’s coat look as garish as possible. Dan is embarrassed and enraged with himself to find he’s still a little afraid of the man who he has trusted with his life every night for years. He’s extremely on edge.

“Did not intend…” Rorschach gives one of his nonverbal syllables, disgruntled and apparently as edgy as Dan himself. “Wouldn’t have hit you.”

“I know,” he lies without thinking, without guilt. To do otherwise seems pretty stupid. “I know.”

He doesn’t see his partner for three weeks after that. The nights, warm and gently easing into summer, seem as hollow and pointless as his days.

And now, to his shame, they are tinged with fear.

* * *

you just stopped showing up.” His arm drapes across his eyes, erasing whiteness with blackness. The emptiness of this place is hollowing, leaving every emotion to echo through him, all the guilt and sorrow. There’s something like anger there, but so sharply turned inward that it cannot surface, resonating within himself.

They told him to talk, for all the good that seems to do.

Swallowing, he turns his head to look at his friend, jumping slightly at the sight of those fierce bombardier’s eyes trained on him. They are a muddy brown (but not just brown; there is a splotch of pale blue in the left, a sectoral heterochromia that is subtly beautiful) and deeply sad under all the intensity, and they had been closed to him for as long as he’d been visiting. Having them open was an encouraging surprise, but (as with most things in this place) it stung, too. Stung that his pain was the cord to finally tug his friend into response of any kind.

“Hey, buddy,” he manages in a whisper, before burying his face in his hands and sobbing something like relief.


	4. pain

_ he expects daniel to talk and leave, to disappear from his consciousness like he always does and leave him. all these words makes so much meaningless noise, so much buzzing silence, and he doesn’t pay attention to them. they are indulgent lies, things to trick him and try to coax him into pretending he doesn’t deserve this. daniel shouldn’t be here. he lets the words wash off him, discomforted by daniel's voice enough that it can’t be soothing. _

I blamed myself, you know  _ comes that voice, low and sweet and hurt. somehow it latches into him, a thing with barbs and hooks, pulling at him. he can’t hear the rest but he knows what daniel is talking about – this is part of what he’s earned, this knowing and this pain. _

_ that daniel would ever think… would blame himself… _

_ he wants to open his eyes and it’s the last thing he wants; seeing daniel's face would be the most blessed thing and the most painful thing. _

_ its white here even with his eyes open, formless and vacant and hellishly consuming, and in the center of it all is daniel, laying just next to him and talking into the unsky. There are tears rolling down daniel's face and the sight of them burns something in his chest, something like guilt and anger and self loathing. _

_ for a moment, his friend’s face is obscured by his arm, hiding the tears that he’s not sure daniel even notices, and then daniel has turned his head and is looking right into his eyes, searching and hoping and then looking away, murmuring a greeting and starting to sob. _

_ he wants to comfort, but he cannot speak. _

_ he tells himself he cannot, and he doesn’t. _


	5. Misery

He cries a good deal longer than he thinks should be possible. Of course, with everything considered, maybe it’s not that bad. The entire time, he feels Rorschach’s eyes on him, but the other man doesn’t say a word.

For what it’s worth, Daniel isn’t sure there’s anything to say.

This place is miserable and that’s probably intentional, but he’s not sure it’s supposed to affect him quite as strongly as it does. The whole situation, really, seems specifically designed to drain. Every visit leaves him shaken, but he’s never made what they might call a ‘break through’ until now. Now he’s not even sure he can get the respite of leaving this little pocket of hell.

Adding to his sickening distress: he’s not sure he wants too. A masochistic streak has always lurked in him on some level, but to actually want to stay here…

He supposes, if pressed, he could justify it as wanting to stay by Rorschach’s side, a desire to press forward and see if he can shock further reaction from the man. It’s not just a feeling of having earned this misery, or feeling that he belongs here. He wants to stay because he’s the only one they think stands a chance of pulling his friend out of this.

From what he understands, no one else comes here. Rorschach is alone when he’s gone, with nothing but his own thoughts… and considering where those thoughts had brought him in the end, Dan imagines that’s not pleasant. Of course, that’s  _ the point _ , he knows it is, but it seems so stupidly cruel. And cruel too that he can come here.

_ All of them require some level of special care. You mustn’t worry about why you can visit him, and you mustn’t allow the… environment to push on you. Just remember that you  _ can _ and that you are the only thing that can free him from his prison. _

Right. He tries to push his doubts away, but they linger on the edge of his mind like a stubborn blind spot. When he sits up again, his breath hitches in his chest, giving his exhale a shuddering, watery quality that destroys his attempt to look composed again. And he’s not composed; he feels hollowed and empty but for sadness and hurt, and looking into those eyes only echoes more of it back into him.

He always imagined his friend to have green eyes. He knows it’s a stereotype, but he’d seen enough errant red hair escaping the edge of Rorschach’s mask, enough gingery stubble, to make the connection. Having stitched closed wounds on nearly every part of the man’s body, the knowledge of all those freckles certainly didn’t hinder his imagination. The eyes he imagined were deep and intense, too bright to be a forest green but too dark to be jade; unique and powerful to match the man.

Brown eyes – and he knows the  sectoral heterochromia isn’t real, he remembers  _ that _ much from the mug shots pasted all over the television – just never added up for him. Flat and muddy and doing no justice to the quick witted mind working away behind them. He wonders, sitting here trying to stop weeping, if the mind behind them is still working away, or if his thoughts have gone as blankly depressing as the world around them.

Just the thought seems like a slight, and guilt resonates through him. He can’t stand thinking of Rorschach in terms that weaken him, even here. So of course his mind is still sharp as ever, and he’s probably getting sick of hearing Daniel snivel.

Another deep breath, exhaled as a sigh. Something about that familiar draw does something for him, something to soothe – not much, but enough, and he smiles weakly at the other man. The splotch of blue has shifted, which is impossible, and is maybe a little greener than it was initially, which is also impossible. Rorschach stares at him seriously, his mouth a thin line that is neither reassuring nor irritated. He looks like he’s simply been patiently waiting for the conversation to continue, his expression every bit asking ‘are you done?’

Without thinking about it, Dan places his hand on the other man’s shoulder and squeezes lightly, earning a slow blink – eyes squeezing shut with a downward twist of the mouth, either displeasure or pain resulting from the gesture. He relaxes his fingers but leaves his hand where it is.

The words feel stupid when they fall from his lips, stupid and false, but he doesn’t try to retract them.

“We’re going to be alright, buddy,” he says. “We’re all right.”

Better a lie than more of the agonizing truth.


End file.
